


Flashback

by kingsatanthegay



Series: Bruise Me [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abandonment, Adoption, Aliens, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childbirth, Coming Out, Conspiracy Theories, Cryptids, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Foster Care, Gang Violence, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, Keith (Voltron) Has Abandonment Issues, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Reunions, Social Anxiety, Trans Female Character, Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Transphobia, also the whole kidnapping thing was so extra, and honestly i cant be assed to make it realistic, broganes, but in the moment i thought i should write it, i promise this isnt 100 percent angst, keith and shiro are half-siblings, not exactly but it's intense for our boi, ok so this is really angsty and potentially triggering so beware buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsatanthegay/pseuds/kingsatanthegay
Summary: PLEASE READ THE TAGS THIS WORK IS SO POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH PLEASE READ THE TAGSok so this is mostly unedited bc i cannot be assed to read 15k of my own work...also this was only supposed to be a couple thousand words but i wanted to get in-depth w the characters and relationships and now here we are...side note: this fic is heavily intertwined w bruise me, as in the plot holes in this work will be explained in future BM chapters, so maybe it's not so good stand-alone, but no one's stopping you so...please please please tell me if you need/want/think anything else should be taggedbtw Keith’s dad is named after his vaalso if y'all have any good titles hmu bc i suck at titlesas always, enjoyedited 24/10/18 to change ‘dad’ to ‘pop.’ idk I just started thinking about it then had to change it





	Flashback

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS THIS WORK IS SO POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH PLEASE READ THE TAGS
> 
> ok so this is mostly unedited bc i cannot be assed to read 15k of my own work...  
> also this was only supposed to be a couple thousand words but i wanted to get in-depth w the characters and relationships and now here we are...  
> side note: this fic is heavily intertwined w bruise me, as in the plot holes in this work will be explained in future BM chapters, so maybe it's not so good stand-alone, but no one's stopping you so...  
> please please please tell me if you need/want/think anything else should be tagged  
> btw Keith’s dad is named after his va  
> also if y'all have any good titles hmu bc i suck at titles  
> as always, enjoy
> 
> edited 24/10/18 to change ‘dad’ to ‘pop.’ idk I just started thinking about it then had to change it

Gunfire rang through the alleyway, sharp pops and bursts of light followed by the clanging of ricocheting bullets. Dark clouds obscured the moon and streetlamps offered the sole source of light in the form of amber-yellow pools.  Muffled shouts and grunts echoed off the grimy walls as the bullets burrowed into their new homes. 

Trevor crouched behind a dumpster, hoping it would end soon, that the gangs would call off the fight and go their separate ways. He knew it was hopeless. But he would never give up in the face of despair. 

Footsteps sounded to his right, and he snapped to face them with a short gasp. They stopped just in front of the dumpster, then walked backwards—right towards him. He held his breath, thinking, _This is it. This is the end. This whole time I thought I'd die in a fire, turns out I'd die in the line of fire instead._  

The figure the footsteps belonged to was beside him now. If they so much as glanced down they'd see him. Trevor made to move backwards, but his foot slid against the pavement and sent a few pebbles flying. The figure froze and slowly turned their gaze onto him. Their narrowed eyes met his wide ones. 

A beat of silence. Then: "You're not wearing any colours... Why are you here?" 

Their voice made Trevor's eardrums twitch; it was far too loud for someone who was probably hiding. 

"Uh..." 

They scoffed. "Never mind. You're a civilian, I can't risk letting you get injured in a gang war. Let's go." 

Trevor watched them retreat, head constantly swivelling. The streetlamp off to their side revealed smooth curves and raggedly cut hair. Hot damn. That narrow gaze landed on him again. "Are you coming, or would you rather die in a dingy alley?" 

He shot to his feet, deciding that being killed by this hunk was much better than being shot by some rando gang member with a rat's tail. 

She led him up around a corner, deeper into the backalleys. Stray cats abandoned their chasing of rats to escape the two. Many twists and turns and double-backs later, the alley dumped them back on the street. It was empty save for a few parked cars that looked as though they'd been ransacked. 

She faced him and asked, "Do you know your way home from here?" 

He blinked, running through the map in his mind. He came up blank. "Uh... No..." 

"What street?" 

"Westley." 

She nodded a few times. "Follow me." 

If Trevor hung back a little to admire the sweet view, no one had to know. And if he kept quiet even when they'd reached a part of town he knew well, that was his secret to keep. 

The walk had been relatively quiet, save for the occasional "cross here" and "turn there"s. So as they were approaching his street, Trevor decided to break the silence and the ice with a question. "Sooo... What's your name?" 

One of her fists clenched. "It's best if you don't know." 

Trevor nodded to himself. Made sense, what with her being part of a gang and all. "Mine's Trevor." 

She clenched her fists alternately. After a few blocks, she muttered, "Krolia." 

He smiled and, not wanting to push his luck, kept quiet after that.  

Trevor lived in the rural part of town, in a modest wooden house with a shed. He owned quite the acreage—it was meant for farming—and so his neighbours' houses were a bit of a walk. 

Krolia walked him right up to his front door. He had a brief flashback to prom night, when he'd done the same for his date. 

"This is your house?" 

"Yeah." 

"Good." 

But she didn't leave.  

"You can come by later if you like." He tried for smooth and got rough. Well. Judging by the colour high in her cheeks, that was just fine too. 

She cleared her throat, unable to meet his eyes. "I see." She turned on her heel and started the long walk back to wherever she needed to be. 

 

\-- 

 

The next time Trevor saw her, he was in the window-booth of a diner. His eyes traced her figure, now illuminated by daylight. Choppy, layered hair, dyed purple but black at the roots. A flat nose, a chin as narrow as her eyes, which, as they met his through the glass, he saw were the most gorgeous shade of indigo. If he'd been thinking _hot damn_ before, now that he'd seen her face he was thinking _forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned_. 

He left some bills on the table, praying they'd be enough to cover his burger, and exited the diner before she could get far. To his surprise, she waited right where he'd spotted her. 

"Fancy meetin' you here." 

"Yes, it was... quite the surprise."  

There was a moment where they both simply looked at each other. 

"Are you on duty?" 

"No." Krolia's hair fell into her eyes when she shook her head. 

"Didja wanna go somewhere?" 

The small smile that graced her lips as she nodded was the cutest darn thing Trevor'd ever seen. 

 

They ended up at a bar not far from the diner. Trevor ordered a round of drinks and some onion rings—the latter because Krolia had said she'd never had them. 

"Hoo, girl, you're gonna love these." He set the tray of food on the table and used its edge to pop the caps off both their beers. "They're a godsend." 

Her brows furrowed apprehensively but she pinched a ring between her fingers and brought it to her mouth anyways.  

"Ah!" She jerked back in her seat, dropping the onion. 

"Careful, they're fresh out the oven." 

She glared at him while taking a sip of her beer. "Thanks for the warning." 

"It was my pleasure," he returned. 

When the conversation slowed, Trevor asked, "So you're Galra, right?" 

She froze with an onion ring halfway to her mouth. Set it down. Nodded. Waited in silence for his reaction. 

"Well, purple looks mighty nice on you." He pushed away from the table before he had the chance to see the colour rise on her cheeks. "Now how 'bout another round of onion rings?" 

 

\-- 

 

The cool, crisp air was a godsend on his burning skin as he stepped out of the truck and shucked off his jacket. Krolia, it seemed, liked things on the warmer side and had cranked the heat on the drive up. As she walked around to the driver's side, already wrapped in a jacket and shivering, Trevor whistled. "Are you even human? There's no way you're cold already." 

She said nothing, only smirked, a glimmer in her eye.  

Trevor shook his head, grinning, then pointed further up the hill. "Spot's right up there. The hike'll warm you up—well, it _should_ , that is. And when we get there, you won't believe your eyes." 

"Lead the way, cowboy." 

 

He'd ended up having to wrap his jacket around her shoulders halfway up the slope. 

Now they were laying on a blanket staring up at the stars, and Krolia had nestled right up against his side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, adding to the layers keeping her warm. She let out a hum and pressed closer. 

"…and those three stars there," he was explaining, "those make up Orion's belt. If you look around them, you'll see his outline: he's got an arrow notched in his bow, and he's aiming it across the sky. Now, his belt is the important part here. Notice how the stars in it aren't a straight line? That's the important bit. 'Cause the aliens helped the Ancient Egyptians build the pyramids of Giza in directly underneath those there stars, so they line up perfectly." 

"Aliens, huh?" She chuckled, and her breath puffed out against his neck. He shivered involuntarily and she shuffled closer, if closer was still possible. "Cold?" 

He swallowed hard and chose to answer only her first question. "Aliens exist. There's more evidence proving their existence than there is disproving it. He cleared his throat before continuing. "And that is the North Star, the brightest star in the sky. It's real close to our Earth's axis, so it's always in the north." 

"You sure know a lot about space, cowboy." 

"I wanted to be an astronaut as a boy. Never happened, though. Wasn't in the budget." 

"Shame. You'd'a made a good'un." Her speech was slurring—was she falling asleep? 

"You still with me, pretty lady?" 

No answer. Out cold. He smiled to himself, tracing her face by the light of the constellations. 

 

\-- 

 

The first time Trevor had succeeded in getting Krolia to come inside his house, he'd been surprised and overly smug. He teased her about how she was finally submitting to his charm and wit.  

She'd left soon after. 

The next several times, he'd managed to keep his cool, despite how flustered and excited he was about this amazing woman setting foot in his ramshackle farmhouse with its tattered tartan settees and unravelled rug.  

The first time she'd spent the night, Trevor's heart was pounding so hard in his chest he was pretty sure it kept them both awake all night. They'd both woken up with heavy bags under their eyes, and when they exchanged a look, it ended in laughter. 

Even when she'd stayed the night ten times and then some, he still couldn't quell the butterflies raging in his stomach. 

She was curled in a blanket on the couch flipping through a western he'd left on the side table. Trevor was meant to be preparing lunch, but the way the sunlight poured through the sliding glass door and illuminated her flyaway hairs had stolen his attention. 

Her head angled towards him slightly at the sound of the fridge door opening and his footsteps padding over to the couch. 

"Hey, pretty lady," he said from his spot on the floor. 

Krolia set down the book before she faced him, her eyes snapping wide. A breath left her lips. 

"Whaddaya say?" Trevor held the leftover onion ring out to her, a shy smile playing on his face. "Come on, this floor's hurtin' my knee." 

Her galaxy eyes focused on his face, flicked back down to the onion ring, then resettled on his own. "Yes," she said, and her word seemed to catch her by surprise, almost as if she couldn't believe it had come from her mouth, so she said it again. "Yes." 

He put the onion on two fingers of her outstretched hand—it was too big for just one—and suddenly he was standing and her arms were around his neck and their lips were smashing together and he could taste the laughter on hers but they kept kissing anyways until they eventually found themselves on the sofa, still wrapped in their embrace, and if her elbow dug into his stomach, he didn't say anything, because the moment was too perfect to shatter. 

 

\-- 

 

He was at the station when he got the call. 

"Trevor—" Krolia gasped before he could say anything. "Trevor, it's—it's happening." 

"Now? Right now?" 

"Yes!" She let out a sound akin to a growl, whether from pain or frustration, he wasn't sure. 

"OK, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm on my way. Are you at home?" 

"No, I went to the hospital." 

"You just _walked_ there?!" He ran a hand through his hair, gripping at the short strands. "Woman, there is seriously something up with you." 

Another growl, this one closer to a scream. "You love me though," she said through a breathless chuckle. 

"Yeah, I do." He shut the car door. "Alright, I'm in the car now. Be there soon." 

"You better get here quick, I sure as hell am not waiting." 

The line disconnected. 

Trevor twisted the key in the ignition and threw the engine into gear before it had the chance to turn over all the way. The car groaned in protest but complied.  

He took turns sharply and raced through yellow traffic lights. He was almost there, he could see the bright red _emergency_ sign glowing in the darkness. Then another car collided with his and all he could see was the darkness. 

 

"Where's my husband?" Krolia screeched at the nurse. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, no one's checked in to see you." 

"But he should be here by now!" 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, there's nothing I can do about it. Now, why don't you lie back and relax?" 

"How the fuck do I relax when my husband's missing and I've got a human coming out my vagina?!" 

The nurse grimaced but laid off. Until another nurse burst through the doorway and exclaimed, "Crash down the street, victims are coming in soon. Anyone not integral to this delivery, report to the emergency entrance now!" 

Krolia's blood ran cold. _Crash. Trevor's in the car._ And she knew. She knew they were sending her a message. 

_Don't get attached. You never know when you'll lose someone._

The words she told herself day in and day out ran through her head for the first time in years. 

"Oh, God," she croaked. 

"Ma'am," a different nurse was saying, "are you alright? Don't worry about that, just focus on the baby; they really need you now. Give me one more big push, OK? Can you do that for me? For them?" 

She mustered up all her energy and did it. Pushed one more time. Then went slack as soon as she heard the squealing wails. Tears carved tracks down her cheeks and soaked into the pillow. 

"Ma'am?" said the nurse beside her, now holding the baby. "It's a girl. Do you want to hold her?" 

Krolia sat up, allowing the other nurse to stuff more pillows behind her back and ignoring the pain in her lower half. "Yes," she whispered. "Please." 

The baby was so small and fragile, Krolia felt like she could break her bones just by holding on a little too tightly. She wanted to hold on tight, so tight, but she held herself back, wiping her cheeks with one hand when a tear lands on the baby's head. 

When the nurse took the baby back, Krolia told herself it was for the best if they both got a night of rest. 

 

"Nurse, would it be alright if I went for a walk?" Krolia sent the nurse her most pleasant face. "I'm always going for runs and exercising, I'm getting restless just sitting here." 

The nurse regarded her for a second. "Well, I don't see the harm. Let me get you some crutches." 

Krolia nodded and waited till the nurse left to scooting to the edge of the bed. By the time the nurse returned, Krolia was holding on to the wall to keep herself upright, shaking out the pins and needles in her legs. 

"Oh, my! Eager, aren't we?" The nurse hands her the crutches. "Now, if you'd like to see your baby, just follow the signs to the nursery, OK dear? Now, I've got some other patients to attend to." 

She almost made it too easy. 

Krolia was grateful that the nursery in this small-town hospital wasn't like the ones she saw in movies. This one had no wall separating it from the hallway, and it only had one nurse. Krolia waited until her back was turned before hobbling in on the one crutch she hadn't abandoned on her way here, and picking up the baby with the last name "Kogane" on the basin. 

She hushed her just in time—couldn't have her breaking into tears now, could they? 

She was almost upset that no one stopped a woman on a crutch from walking out of the hospital with a newborn. But that was a hick town for you, wasn't it? 

There was purple down in the smoking pit. Krolia kept her head down as she limped to the curb. Glancing down at herself, she cursed mentally for forgetting to grab her street clothes. Luckily for her, the police station wasn't too far from the hospital. 

Once there, she set her baby down on the stoop, wrapped in her blanket, and pulled out the note she'd written in the middle of the night, explaining her situation. She pressed a final kiss on the baby's forehead before pounding on the door and hobbling away. 

 

\-- 

 

Ulaz threw the door open, out of breath from sprinting across the station. But no one was there. Then there was a gurgle from his feet and he looked down to find a baby. 

"I thought this only happened in movies," he whispered to himself, stooping down to pick it up. A note fell out of the blanket fold. He took the two inside, sitting down and wheeling his chair over to Thace's desk. "Look what I found." 

"If this is another cat video, I _swear to god_ \--!" The last part of his sentence morphed into a shout as he turned and saw the baby. "Where the hell did you get that? We never discussed this! For god's sake, we've never even had a dog!" 

"Oh, calm down. Someone left her on the doorstep with this note." 

He unfolded the paper and read aloud: 

_"This is Yorak Kogane. I gave birth to her yesterday evening. On his way to the hospital, her father was killed or taken by the Galra. I feared I or Yorak was next so I took her and fled the hospital. I am a police officer working undercover and have infiltrated the gang. Please take of my daughter."_

They stared at each other in silence.  

"Thace, we have to take care of this baby," Ulaz whispered.  

Thace nodded in silence, swallowing hard.  

 

\-- 

 

"Have you managed to find her yet?" Ulaz came up behind his husband, Yorak in hand. She squealed and swung her fist around, conking her foster dad in the cheek. He caught her tiny fist between gentle fingers, working it open to smooth his thumb along her palm. "Feisty, hey?" he murmured. 

Thace sighed from his place in front of their computer, running both hands through his hair. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The station she worked at must've wiped her file in case the Galra ran a search on her." 

Ulaz lay a soothing hand on Thace's cheek, sighing as the latter held it to his mouth and pressed his lips against it. "Was there anything on the baby?" When his partner's shoulders drooped, he knew the answer. "At least she's keeping her baby safe by doing this." 

Yorak gurgled questioningly, as if she knew the two were talking about her mother, the woman who had given birth to her just days prior. Ulaz rocked her gently, murmuring calm words. 

"We've got you, babygirl. You won't be left again." 

 

\-- 

 

The captain stopped next to Thace's desk, resting a palm flat on its surface.  

"Yes, Kolivan?" He tilted his head back to meet the man's gaze. 

"You might want to call your husband. I've got... news for you both." 

Thace's eyebrows crinkled, but he reached for the phone nevertheless. "Y-yes, sir." 

 

Ulaz bustled through the door, pushing Yorak in her little stroller. He smiled at the captain on approach. "Thace said you had news?" 

Kolivan pursed his lips. "Step into my office, please." 

At this, Ulaz's face fell and he exchanged a worried glance with his husband. 

Inside the small room, Kolivan leaned against his desk and ran a hand down his face, sighing into his palm. "The news is... good and bad, depending on how you view it." He let the statement hang in the air, blood-chilling. "The baby's father... has been found. He was kidnapped by the Galra, but he is alive and in such a condition where he can take custody of her." 

Ulaz felt his heart sink, cracked. 

Kolivan picked his gaze up off the floor and fixed it on both of them in turn. "And he wishes to do so." 

A sob broke from Ulaz's lips, and he belatedly smacked a hand over his mouth to stifle it. Thace's arms wrapped around him, hands stroking his hair. 

"You're sure it's him?" Thace asked. 

"The DNA matches. It has to be." 

"You can't take her. She's our baby—we've taken care of her for almost two years! He can't just—just come in and—and take our baby from us! There has to be something—some law—he _can't_..." 

"I'm afraid he can. Due to extenuating circumstances, he was unable to care for the baby until now. He did not abandon her. The court will always favour biological parents over foster ones. I am deeply sorry for this, Ulaz and Thace, believe me, I am. But at this point, there isn't anything we can do. The father has already threatened to take us to court. I would much rather avoid that, if possible. In any case, you have one more night with the baby before she must be placed in the custody of her father." 

 _But_ I _am her father._ Thace _is her father._   

Instead of screaming what so desperately wanted to be freed, Ulaz merely nodded, pushing open the door to the precinct and wheeling the stroller out backwards. Distantly he heard Thace request the rest of the day off. 

Yorak must have sensed the change in their behaviour because she whimpered, trying to twist in her seat and reach up to Ulaz. He squeezed his eyes shut, squeezing the handles of the stroller.  

"It'll be OK, babygirl. I promise." 

 

\-- 

 

The worst part was, he could tell the man was her father as soon as he saw the guy. It was the eyes, as it so often was, that gave it away. It certainly didn't help that the man was ripped, wearing a fire department t-shirt, and had the house to show for it. 

"I can't believe this is happening," Ulaz whispered, equal parts to himself and to his husband, for the eighth time since they'd gotten in the truck. 

"We'll still visit. They can't strip that right for nothing." Thace squeezed his shoulder before popping open the door. 

Ulaz elected to carry his daughter instead of putting her in the stroller, so he could better gauge her reaction to being handed off to this strange man. Maybe also because he really didn't want to let go of her just yet. 

As soon as the man—Trevor—laid eyes on her, his own brimmed with tears. "Oh," he whispered, and it sounded punched out of him. "She looks so much like her mother." He took her in his arms, perfectly of course. Ulaz cursed his innate baby-holding skills. 

"Yorak, huh?" he asked her with a fond smile, to which she nodded, looking disgruntled. "It's just like your mother to pick a name like that." He took a moment to just look at her, take her in, then said, "Let's get you inside, alright kid?" 

He led the way through the front door, Ulaz and Thace following behind with the first load of baby furniture. When everything had been transferred from their truck to his house, it was time to say goodbye. No more reason to stick around when this man clearly did not want them in his house any longer. 

Ulaz went first, clutching Yorak close to himself, nose buried in her tiny shoulder. When he pulled away and handed her to Thace, wiping his eyes, she said, "Daddy?" And then when Thace passed her to Trevor, "Papa?" And her tone was getting increasingly distraught like she knew she was being abandoned _again_ when Ulaz had told her she _would never be again_ — 

And he just couldn't do it. He couldn't stand to be there any longer. The tears that had been stinging the backs of his eyes burst through, floodgates be damned, and he booked it out of the house before anyone could take note. 

And he knew they were just her foster dads, knew this could've happened at any time, knew she could've been ripped away from them, but he was just getting used to the idea of being a _real_ family, something he hadn't had as a kid, and something he'd so desperately wanted to give her. 

"Hey hey hey, shh, it's OK, she'll be OK, we'll be OK, shh..." 

"Oh, god... Our baby, Thace! She was our babygirl...!" 

 

\-- 

 

Trevor was roused from his nap by an outraged cry. 

"No way! There's no way it wasn't—" 

"Hey. Kid. Stop yellin' and get to bed. School tomorrow." 

Trevor didn't need to open his eyes to know his daughter was making the face; eyebrows tilted up, lip pushed out, cheeks puffed. 

"Aw, come on, Pop, one more? Pleeaase? It's only an hour long!" 

"Bed. Now. It's an early morning and you're hard enough to get out of bed as it is." 

"Uuuggh, _fine_." She clicked the button on the TV and shuffled her sock feet on the floorboards on her way to her room. 

"Don't be complaining if you get splinters." 

 _"Ow!"_ She ripped her sock off and pinched the sliver of wood, tearing it out of her sole. "Stupid got-damn old floor," she muttered under her breath. 

"Watch your language." Trevor still hadn't moved from the couch. 

"What? I said _got_ not _god_." 

"Not what I'm talking about." 

"But _god's_ the part they always beep on TV!" 

"Bedtime." 

She stalked off, grumbling all the way. Eventually, Trevor mustered the energy to follow her, seating himself on the edge of her bed after pulling the blanket up. He brushed her bangs back and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Sleep tight, sweet dreams, and don't let the bedbugs bite." 

He stood and flicked the light switch on his way out the door. 

"But I like the bedbugs." 

"I'm sure you do, kid."  

 

\-- 

 

When her father's back was turned, Yorak jumped into the passenger seat and settled into the worm cushion. She slid the seatbelt buckle into the latch and lifted her head to admire the view out the windshield—only, all she could see was the dashboard.  

"Ugh, you have got to be got-damn kidding me..." 

Pop poked his head out from behind the truck, brow furrowing when he spotted his daughter. "Hey now, what do you think you're doing sitting in the front seat?" 

Yorak crossed her arms and squished herself down into the seat resolutely. 

Pop sighed. "Alright, fine. You win. You can sit in the front—but only if you help me pack the bed." 

She hopped out of the cab and rushed around to the bed, exclaiming, "Deal!" 

Once the tent, sleeping bags, and food were packed, the two of them climbed into the truck and set off on their journey. Yorak had grabbed a pillow and was now sitting on it, appreciating the view of the open road in front of her. 

They stopped at the base of a hill, right at the end of the dirt road. The sun was just starting to set, vibrant oranges and pinks spilling across the clear blue like spilled Crush. Hauling their gear up the hill was harder than Yorak expected, even if she was only carrying the chips and blankets. She glanced over at her pop, who had the tent bag balanced on one shoulder, the cooler filled with pop held in his opposite hand, and the sleeping bags slung over his shoulders like backpacks. She was awed by his strength, and promised herself she would one day be as strong as her pop. 

Getting the tent set up was a whole nother story. Pop had threaded the poles through the material at the top and gotten them attached at both of his corners, while Yorak was having difficulties with getting the _got-damn poles to got-damn bend so she could attach them to the got-damn corners_. 

When the tent was erected at last and the blankets were spread on the grass, the sky had faded to blue-indigo and, this far out, was dotted with countless twinkling stars. Yorak lay down on the blanket, next to her pop, and pressed against his side, shivering. He sat up and shucked off his jacket, laying it overtop of her. 

"You're so much like your mother," he sighed, fond, laying back down. "Almost her spitting image, too." 

Her brows crinkled. "Is... is my mother dead?" she asked, voice small. She'd never met the woman, but the way Pop talked about her made Yorak wish she had. Her earliest memories were of sitting in the backyard playing in the dirt and, when they were lucky enough to get rain, making mud pies. Which she would then proceed to try and eat, to Pop’s great distress. 

"No, no she's not dead. What makes you think that?" 

She hides her face in Pop’s arm. "Then why don't I know her?" 

Pop’s hand pets her hair. "Hey, kid," he says, and doesn't try to make her look at him, respecting her need for privacy, "your mother wants to be here, so badly. She wants to know you, and talk to you, and play games with you--she wants to do everything with you. But the thing is, she's in a difficult situation. A dangerous one. And she can't leave to come be with us. But believe me when I say she wishes she were here just as much, if not more than you do. She loves you, kid, even if you don't know it." 

Pop’s words filled Yorak with determination, a pinch of sadness in the mixture. She would get stronger to save her mother from this dangerous situation she couldn't get out of. She would try her hardest to meet this woman Pop talked about with such a fond look in his eye, such a wistful expression on his face, open and honest as it never was. And if, right now, Yorak sniffled and wiped her snot and tears on her pop’s sleeve, neither of them said anything. 

"You know, kid, if you went into space, the stars wouldn't twinkle like they do here on our Earth. They'd look like someone'd taken a picture of 'em, all frozen-like. That's cause when the starlight passes through the atmosphere, it goes through all these different temperature air pockets, and those reflect the light. Like if you shone a flashlight at a mirror." 

Yorak took a moment to absorb this information, then asked, "Hey, Pop?" 

"Yeah, kid?" 

"Why do you always say 'our Earth' on not just 'Earth?'" 

"Well, that's simple. There's no way, that in this entire universe, we're the only living beings. There's bound to be other planets that sustain life, don'cha think? And maybe those lifeforms think they're alone in the universe, like so many humans do. They might be pretty similar to us, too. So their planet's like their version of our Earth." 

And Yorak thought that was kind of beautiful, not being alone in the universe. She never wanted to be alone, and even if the other humans rejected her, she could still have the aliens. She'd just need to figure out a way to get to them first. 

 

\-- 

 

In the days following their little camping trip, Yorak sought to learn as much as she could about her mother. No matter what her father told her— _y'know, she'd never had onion rings until I took her to a bar the second time we met_ —every tiny detail that may have seemed insignificant to an outsider— _you know, I proposed to your mother with an onion ring_ —warmed Yorak's heart so much that if it replaced the hot Texas sun, her pop would've said, _it's so dry, I'm spittin' cotton_. 

She was laying on her pop's bed, on her stomach, where he'd left her to take a shower after one of their interrogation sessions. Before this, she'd never spent much time--if any at all--in her pop’s room, so she couldn't help but be curious about the big knife sitting innocently on his nightstand. There was no way she could be blamed for grasping the bandage-wrapped handle and holding it out in front of her as if in defense. So when her pop walked in to his eight-year-old daughter brandishing a dagger and promptly relieved her of it, she was righteously indignant. 

"—but it was just sitting there, _begging_ me to pick it up! It was calling my name!" she argued, making grabby hands at the knife in question as her pop held it high above his head. 

"Yorak, it's a _knife_. It's _sharp_. You coulda cut yourself. Kids shouldn't play with knives." And he was looking at her with—not anger, she realized—but worry, and... sorrow? 

"I'm sorry, Pop..." 

With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the bed and grasped her shoulder with the hand that wasn't holding the knife. "It's not your fault, kid. Shoulda known you'd'a had your mother's spirit." He turned the knife over, examining it. "This was hers, you know. She'd have it now if she hadn't'a left it here before going to the hospital to have you." 

He took a moment and just looked at the knife: its gleaming blade, reflecting his gaze; the worn bandages wound around the hilt, presumably hiding the Galra logo; the purple jewel embedded right under where the wrappings ended, which he'd told her time and time again looked just like her eyes, shining and beautiful. She'd always kept the knife in such good condition, polishing it nonstop when she was nervous and every time she came back from a fight. 

He took a moment to give the knife one last, long look, before holding it out, hilt-first, to Yorak. "She'd want you to have it, kid." 

Her eyes lit up—so painfully like her mother's—and she held the knife almost reverently. "Really?" 

And he couldn't fight his smile if he tried. "Maybe you'll even find her one day with its help." 

The pang of melancholy deep in Trevor's chest almost made him double over as Yorak smiled, a mirror image of Krolia. 

 

\-- 

 

 _"HAARP is the subject of numerous conspiracy theories. Various individuals have speculated about hidden motivations and capabilities of the project. For example, Rosalie Bertell warned in 1996 about the deployment of HAARP as a military weapon. Michel Chossudovsky stated in a book published by the Committee on Monetary and Economic Reform that "recent scientific evidence suggests that HAARP is fully operational and has the capability of triggering floods, hurricanes, droughts and earthquakes." Over time, HAARP has been blamed for generating such catastrophes, as well as thunderstorms, in Iran, Pakistan, Haiti, Turkey, Greece and the Philippines, and even major power outages, the downing of TWA Flight 800, Gulf War syndrome, and chronic fatigue syndrome."_ [1] 

Yorak watched, enraptured, as clips of the _ionospheric research program facility_ were shown. She flipped through all the episodes scheduled to play that night and pressed the record button for each of them. 

"Alright, kid, you gotta go to bed if you wanna come grocery shopping tomorrow." 

"OK!" She pressed the power button at the top of the remote and leapt to her feet, practically sprinting into her bedroom. 

"Someone's an eager beaver," her pop said, amused. 

"What," she pouted from her spot on the bed. "I wanna go." 

"I know, kid. Sleep tight. I'll wake you up bright and early tomorrow." 

"Night, Pop." 

Lights out. Door shut. 

Yorak shut her eyes, willing sleep to take her, but it just wouldn't come. The documentary was calling to her; she could feel its pull from inside the DVR. After an eternity had passed, she threw the covers aside and tiptoed to the door and inched it open. She went especially slow when it got to the part that squeaked. Then she snuck over to the TV and pressed the power button, finger hovering over the _volume –_ button to immediately smash it when the speakers came to life. Next was finding the DVR menu and starting up the documentary. 

 _"Computer scientist David Naiditch characterizes HAARP as "a magnet for conspiracy theorists," saying that HAARP attracts their attention because, "its purpose seems deeply mysterious to the scientifically uninformed." Journalist Sharon Weinberger called HAARP "the Moby Dick of conspiracy theories," and said the popularity of conspiracy theories often overshadows the benefits HAARP may provide to the scientific community. Austin Baird writing in the Alaska Dispatch said, "What makes HAARP susceptible to conspiracy criticism is simple. The facility doesn't open its doors in the same way as other federally-funded research facilities around the country, and it doesn't go to great efforts to explain the importance of its research to the public."_  [1] 

 

Trevor opened Yorak's room door to wake her, only she wasn't in there. "Yorak?" he called, blood running cold. _The Galra._ They came for her. 

He stopped dead when he turned into the living room and saw the TV logo bouncing across the screen and a certain child sprawled across the couch. He gently nudged her awake. "Hey, kid, you stay up all night watching conspiracies again?" 

"Nnnnn." 

"Alright, well, you stay here and sleep, and I'll go to the grocery store. Be back in an hour. No parties." 

The drive to the store was short compared to the drive to basically anywhere else. It, too, was on the outskirts of town, and was thus referred to as _the hick IGA_. Certainly didn't help that it was attached to a gas station. 

Queuing up at the till, Trevor spotted a copy of _Conspiracies Weekly_ in the magazine rack. _Mothman: cryptid, alien, or secret government experiment?_ it read. He snagged it for Yorak; it seemed right up her alley. 

He got through the checkout in record time, but just as he was leaning in the passenger door to put the groceries in the truck, he jolted as a sharp, _hot_ pain struck his shoulder. He cried out, grasping the joint and cursing when his hand came away wet, red with blood. 

As the second shot tore right through his abdomen, all he could think about was Yorak, about how he'd left her home alone, _thank god she'd watched recordings all night_ — 

 

\-- 

Yorak stared at the clock above the stove. If the little hand was on the 10 when she'd woken up, and Pop had left before that, and now the little hand was on the 5, then Pop had been gone... three, four, five... eight hours. She was almost entirely sure that was too long to just be at the grocery store. Maybe he had needed to go to the grocery store in town for something their small one hadn't had, or maybe he'd decided to do some extra shopping... Her birthday was coming up, after all. 

She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she would be alone for another while.  

More questions about her mother were running through her mind, like— _What's her name? What does she look like? Where did you meet her?_ —all simple questions she probably should've started with. 

Then there was a knock on the door. She pushed a chair over to it and looked through the peephole like Pop had taught her. She didn't recognize the man on the other side. He wore a suit, a garment she'd only seen once or twice in their small town. 

"Who is it?" she asked, still staring through the glass. 

"Is this Yorak Kogane?" 

"Who is it?" she asked again, insistently. Pop had taught her never to answer questions before she knew who she was talking to. 

"I'm a friend of your father's. Will you open the door for me, please?" 

There was no way Pop was friends with someone in a suit. Nuh-uh. 

Probably realizing she wasn't going to open up, the man grasped the doorknob and twisted. To her sheer horror, it was unlocked. Either Pop forgot to flick the nub on his way out or she had bumped it just now.  

She jumped off the chair and tried to jam it under the knob like they did in the movies, only she was too late and the chair just fell on its back as the man swung the door open. 

"Will you come with me, sweetie?" And his voice was sugar-sweet, sickly-sweet, like the jujubes Pop would buy, much to Yorak's distaste. 

She shook her head, backing away from the open door. He followed. She turned to run but he was faster. 

"No! I want my pop! Where is he? You can't take me, I won't go!" She struggled uselessly against the man. He had his hand clamped around her bicep and was leading her out the front door. She dug her heels into the dirt, scrabbled and scratched at his hand with her free one, but it was all for naught. The people she heard her pop muttering about late at night when he thought she was sleeping had finally come for her. 

The men in black, just like all those conspiracy shows warned.  

She wished she hadn't stayed up late so she could've gone with Pop. At least then she wouldn't be alone and he could protect her. 

The promises she'd made to herself about being as strong as Pop ran through her mind like the record Pop always played even though there was one spot the needle would stick, repeating the same word over and over again. 

They sat her in the backseat of a black sedan and buckled her in. She was surprised they didn't blindfold her like kidnappers do in movies. 

The drive seemed to take forever, which may have been in part caused by the fact that she had been sitting in the backseat, alone, instead of up front with Pop and his low singing voice dancing along to the music on the radio. 

When her eyes came into focus, they were looking straight at a sign that read, _The Tortilla Bowl_. 

The men in black were taking her bowling? 

But they led her instead into the restaurant neighbouring the bowling alley, passing under a sign she didn't have enough time to read. 

This time there was a woman—wearing a tight bun and a pantsuit, the kind of woman Pop had warned her about—and she sat across from Yorak in the booth. The men in black sat in a separate booth behind the woman. 

The woman folded her hands on the tabletop and fixed Yorak with a gaze filled with false warmth. "Hello, Yorak," she said, and her voice was equally tepid. "My name is Julie." She slid a menu across the white linoleum. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? You can order whatever you like." 

Yorak stared at the menu, then flicked her eyes back up to Julie, a silent refusal. 

The corner of Julie's mouth twitched. She cleared her throat. "Very well. I'll get right to it, then." She leaned forwards, mouth set in a grim line. The pleather bench squeaked under her weight. "As of today, you will be in the custody of your elder half-brother, one Takashi Shirogane." 

Yorak clenched her jaw, fighting back the tears. "I want my pop. Why can't I stay with _him_?" 

"There have been some... unfortunate incidents that are being taken care of. At this point in time, your father will be unable to care for you, and as such, we must bring you to your half-brother's house." 

"What if I don't wanna?" 

Yorak watched, pleased as punch, as Julie's eyebrow twitched. "We have been granted full consent by the state to do this. It is a requirement of the law." 

Pop had always said that certain parts of the law were wrong, and OK to disregard. Surely this was one of them—taking children from their homes, their parents, and whisking them away to distant half-relatives they've never met nor heard of. 

But Yorak was only eight. What could she do against Julie and the men in black? The government? 

She hung her head, shoulders slumping in defeat. 

 

\-- 

 

Takashi Shirogane lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment. It was sparsely decorated, as was expected of a broke college student. 

When he'd opened the door after Julie had knocked, Yorak knew right away that Julie hadn't lied about Takashi Shirogane being her half-brother. He bore a strong resemblance to her— _their_ —pop. 

"Uh—can I help you?" His eyes flickered between Julie and Yorak, as if he didn't know what to do with a suitcase-carrying child on his doorstep. 

Julie stepped forwards and offered her hand. "Takashi Shirogane, I am Julie Sharp. This is Yorak Kogane, your half-sister. I am her social worker." 

Takashi Shirogane's eyes bugged almost out of his head, Yorak noted with interest. _"Excuse me?"_  he exclaimed. "Half-sister? Social worker? I'm sorry, but you're gonna need to give me more context than that." 

"Let's talk inside, shall we?" And Julie invited herself in to his apartment, much like the man in black had invited himself into Yorak's home. 

Takashi Shirogane was spluttering, entirely out of his comfort zone, it seemed. He shut the door behind them and wiped his hands on his sweats. "Can—can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Coffee?" 

"No, thank you. Now, Yorak, why don't you go into the other room? The adults need to talk." 

Yorak obliged, but not before mimicking her silently behind her back, much to Takashi Shirogane's quickly hidden amusement. 

She shut the door most of the way and sat against the wall beside it, facing the room. It was the bedroom. Its walls were painted a light, unobtrusive blue and there was a twin bed against one wall and a desk against the wall Yorak was leaning on. There was a window on the wall opposite Yorak and a closet opposite the bed. Not much to look at. Yorak soon went back to eavesdropping on the conversation outside. 

"… who we believe was involved with a gang. Her father was shot a a few days ago outside a grocery store. We searched the system, and you're her only living relative. Aside from possibly the mother, but we have no way of knowing her condition. Her files seem to have been erased and the only information in them is her name and photograph. I apologize for dropping all this on you so suddenly, but we tried phoning and got no answer." 

"Ah, yeah, my landline got disconnected—technical error—and I lost my cell." 

"I see. Well. If you have any questions, you can reach me at this number and email address. I must be off now. Goodbye." 

"Yeah... bye..." 

The door clicked shut. 

Takashi Shirogane sighed loudly. Yorak envisioned him running his hands through his hair and down his face, like Pop used to do when he was stressed. 

_Her father was shot outside the grocery store._

Pop was dead.  

He'd _died_ , and Yorak had just sat at home, wondering when he was coming back. Now she knew he would never come back. 

She hadn't even said goodbye... 

The tears she'd been fighting on and off all week finally flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She stifled her sobs in the sleeve of the sweater she'd been wearing when the man in black had taken her. They'd packed her a suitcase after they'd put her in the car, but it only contained her clothes, none of the mementos and souvenirs she'd had in her room that Pop had given her. Salty tears cascaded down her face as she thought of all the memories she might lose, not having those things to remind her of them. She remembered them now, sure, but five years down the road? Ten? 

With a jolt, one memory in particular came slamming back to the forefront of her mind. She stuck her hand in the kangaroo pocket of her jacket to confirm... Yes! After Pop had entrusted her with her mother's knife, Yorak had taken to carrying it around all day, every day, in her hand, her boot, her waistband, _her pocket_. 

And there it was, solid and warm in her grasp, the most important memento she'd ever had. She wiped the tears from her face, only for them to be immediately replaced by fresh ones. 

The door next to her creaked open, and Takashi Shirogane's eyes flicked around the room before landing on Yorak, curled up and crying next to him. His caregiving instincts seemed to kick in, because there was a flash of worry in his gaze and then he was crouching next to her, reaching a hand out to place it on her shoulder.  

His mouth twisted. "You heard, huh?" he murmured. 

She nodded, sniffing loudly. 

"I'm sorry, kiddo. Do you need a hug? That lady seemed awfully cold—" Before he could even finish, Yorak threw her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest, sobbing into it. He was just too got-damn similar to Pop, even though they may not have even met, and it hurt Yorak so bad. And the words he spoke next were also hauntingly familiar, like getting déjà-vu in a place you've never been. 

"Hey, shh... It's gonna be alright. I'll take care of you, kiddo. Promise." 

 

\-- 

 

Takashi stood back and admired his work. "Ta-da!" he said, holding his arms out to present the finished project to Yorak. She examined the curtain that was hanging in the middle of the room and nodded, granting it her seal of approval. 

"It'll do." 

"What, that's it? Man, I finally get you the privacy you've been begging for, and _this_ is the thanks I get?" He grinned down at her, ruffling her unruly hair. 

She shoved his hand away and smoothed her hair back into place, not that it had had one to begin with. 

Even though she was still slightly skeptical of Takashi's ability to be her guardian, she liked him quite a lot. He was fun and let her get away with misbehaving. Not so much that she felt like she was in charge, though. 

On the third day of her residence, Yorak had questioned him within an inch of his life. 

"How old are you?" 

"Eighteen." 

"Seems kinda young to be raising a kid..." 

"Well, I'm an adult! Besides, I know how single parenting works." 

"How are we related again?" 

"We're half-siblings. Which just means that we only share one parent, instead of two." 

"My— _our_ pop, right?" 

"Yep. My mom and your pop had—uh—how do I explain this..." 

"I know how babies work." 

"Uh, right... But they weren't, like, dating. It was just a one-time thing. That's what my mom told me, anyways." 

"Is your mom nice?" 

"Yeah. The kindest person I've ever met." 

"Why don't you live with her then?" 

"She uh... She died. Cancer." 

Yorak paused. They'd both lost their parents. She swallowed hard before continuing. 

"Do you go to school still?" 

"Yeah, I'm studying to be an astronaut." 

At this, her eyes lit up.  

"Like, you're gonna go into space and meet the aliens?" 

Takashi looked taken aback. He mouthed the word _aliens_. 

"Yeah, exactly. And I'll get to see the best view of Earth in person." 

" _Our_ Earth." 

"Huh?" 

"This is _our_ Earth, but there's more Earths in the universe. With other aliens that maybe think they're alone in the universe, too. And maybe they call their Earth 'Earth,' like we do, and that's _their_ Earth." 

"Is that so?" 

"You're gonna go into space and meet the other aliens on their Earths and tell them they're not alone, right? That we're here, too, and so are the other Earths?" 

"Of course I will, kiddo. Of course I will." 

 

\-- 

 

Every day, when Takashi got back from classes, Yorak was in front of the TV watching conspiracy documentaries and pressing the record button for every episode she saw. The first time he'd come home to this, there had been tears in her eyes, silently dripping onto the carpet. 

"Hey," he'd said as he sat next to her. "What's wrong?" 

She snorted a wad of mucus back into her throat before whispering in a trembling voice, "Pop and I used to watch these together when he came home from work... He always told me more stuff about them when the person on the show left something out and then make up his own version of the story when it ended." 

Takashi watched her eyes fill back up with tears and felt his own do the same. He pulled her to his side and held her tightly with one arm. "Wanna pick one to watch? Maybe you can tell me one of his stories." 

This made her sob harder, but she nodded again and again and chose an episode. 

Takashi didn't know how she could see it through the puddles in her eyes, cause he could barely see it himself and he wasn't even crying half as much as she was. 

But while the credits were rolling, she recounted one of their pop’s stories in a shaky voice that grew stronger the longer she spoke. By the end she was laughing and saying something about the lions being sacred in Ancient Egypt, and how the religious people would worship them and the pharaoh even had a statue with his face on a lion's body whipped up. 

"That pharaoh was full of himself," she said. "His head was huge! Bigger than the pyramids! Did you know the aliens helped build those, and they're lined up with the stars in Orion's Belt?" 

 

\-- 

 

Takashi taught Yorak how to read and write in Japanese. It was a trying process, but fun for the both of them. He learned that she liked to be challenged, and she had little difficulty when it came to hiragana and katakana, so he decided to move along to kanji.  

The first time he’d written his name in kanji, she balked at it.  

“What is _that_?” 

With a smirk, he added the hiragana above the more complicated symbols.  

“Is that your _name_?” She leaned in closer. _“Shirogane Takashi.”_ Her eyebrow quirked up. Wait. Takashi was his _last_ name? She fell back against the floor.  

“Ugh, your name is too long. I’m just gonna call you Shiro.” 

He laughed at that. “Alright, kiddo. My other friends do, too.” 

“Like you have other friends.” 

“I do too! You know what—” He paused to think. “How about I take you to meet one of them?” 

“You mean the only one?” 

Shiro rolled his eyes but let the jab slide. “I’ve told Matt all about you and I’m sure his little sister Katie would wanna meet you. You’re about the same grade.” 

Yorak wondered why Katie would want to meet her—it’s not like she had any particularly good qualities or was super outgoing or anything. Yorak had never really had any friends her age. It was always just her and her pop. Sure, there were kids at school she’d talk to, but she’d never hung out with any of them outside of class.  

So she shrugged. “I guess.” 

 

\-- 

 

Yorak stared out the window, watching the students in the neighbouring dorm put up Halloween decorations. It was much too early in her opinion; the holiday was still almost a whole month away. It was like getting a Christmas tree in November, she thought. Dumb and pointless, because the excitement would fade, much like the bright green of the fir's needles. 

Around this time, her pop would be pestering her about her costume choice for that year.  

"Don't wanna," she'd say, but she always ended up wearing some silly getup that made her smile—behind her pop’s back, of course. 

Once it had been a witch's hat and broom, and she'd delighted in the way adults would feign terror and cry, "Oh no! Don't cast a spell on me, please!" 

Then it had been a vampire. She'd spent a week in front of the mirror practicing her scary face and repeating, "I vant to suck your blood!" 

Last year, her pop had surprised her with a sasquatch costume, which had turned out to just be Chewbacca, but she loved it anyways, even if she couldn't wear it the whole night.  

"Phew! You _smell_ like a Wookie, kid!" Pop had exclaimed, waving his hand in front of his face. 

"Yeah, well that's cause this costume is twice my size!" And it had been; as soon as she'd put it on, she'd appeared to have puffed out, kind of like a marshmallow. 

This year, her pop wasn't around to buy a costume to force her into. She didn't know if she even _wanted_ to dress up. 

A knock on the wall startled her out of her reminiscing. Shiro had stuck his hand through the curtain dividing their room.  

"Yeah?" she called, voice thin. 

He pulled back the curtain, letting it fall back into place behind him. "Sooo, a little birdy told me your birthday was coming up..." He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to look innocent. 

"Ugh," she mumbled into her arms, going back to leaning against the window sill. 

"Hey, come on, don't be like that." His footsteps appraoched her. "Don't you wanna do anything?" 

"Nuh-uh." 

"You don't want a present?" 

"Mm-mm." 

"Wanna go out to eat? To see a movie?" Shiro guessed several other places, but all of them were shot down. "Geez... You're a tough kid. There's gotta be _something_ you want." 

Yorak wracked her brain, coming up with nothing. She shook her head. 

"Hmm, let’s see... You like cryptids, aliens, conspiracy theories, sports... There's _gotta_ be something..." He gasped, smacking a fist into an open palm. "I've got it! You ever head of an _alien experiencer expo_?" 

Interest piqued, Yorak lifted her head, then shook it. 

"Oh, you're gonna love it. All these different people who've been abducted come together and share their stories. Plus, there's a whole bunch of people showing off alien tech they've found..." 

Shiro dissolved into explaining every facet of the expo, and Yorak felt herself getting more and more excited at the prospect of attending it. 

"Actually, I think there's one in a couple weeks..." 

"Let's go!" Yorak shouted, unable to contain her excitement. She leapt off the bed and wrapped her arms around Shiro's middle, jumping in place. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!" 

Shiro laughed, but hugged her back. "Alright, alright. Is it cool if I invite Matt and Katie? They've always wanted to go—" 

"Yes! Let's just go!" 

"We can't go now, it's weeks away!" 

 

\-- 

 

Here's the thing. Yorak wasn't too good at recognizing her emotions, or sorting them out, or communicating them to others. It had taken her—in her opinion—way too long to figure this one out. 

She was turning nine next week. She'd had nine years to think on this—well, probably closer to five, considering—and she'd only just reached a conclusion.  

With her pop, it hadn't been much of a problem. He'd always just called her "kid," and sometimes her "mother's daughter." But only sometimes. Yet, every time he had called her the latter, the name had awoken an uncomfortable, squirming feeling in her belly. The feeling had only grown when she'd been enrolled in school and the teachers called her "young lady." Because she didn't want to be called a young lady, or a lady at all, for that matter. It had taken her five long years to understand why she always felt a stab of jealousy, of longing, whenever her teachers called the boys "young men" or "sirs." 

More than anything, she wanted to be called a young man. A sir.  

But she didn't think she was allowed to feel that way. 

So one day when Shiro was napping on the couch, she snuck his phone off the floor where it had presumably fallen. Now, sitting on her bed, she unlocked it—his password had been stupidly easy to guess—and opened the browser. 

With shaking fingers, she typed in her question— _why do i want to be a boy if i'm a girl_ —and pressed enter. 

It took a minute—an endless minute, with her rapidly contracting lungs and even quicker heartbeat—but the results loaded. There were dozens of people asking the same question she was. 

_I feel like a boy, but I'm female. What do I do?_

_I want people to call me a boy – help?_

She clicked into every Web address she came across, and every one had the same answer. 

_You might be transgender. Here's a link if you want to learn more. It's better to read the info there than for me to tell you. (:_

So Yorak clicked. 

And she read. And read. And read. 

_Most Trans people change their names to something that fits their gender._

_They might also change the pronouns people call them by._

_Click here to read about the different genders._  

She read until she heard Shiro stirring in the living room, and slid his phone under the curtain before bundling up in her blankets, skin buzzing. Finally, she felt like herself—rather, _he_ felt like _him_ self. 

 

\-- 

 

It was another couple days before he felt ready to go to Shiro. He took some time to think about his new name. Stole Shiro's phone again to search for good ones. Ended up on more baby name sites than he cared to admit. But now, he was finally prepared. He'd waited nine years for this moment and he wasn't about to wait any longer. 

"Hey, Shiro?" His voice came out a lot smaller than he'd intended. 

"Yeah, kiddo?" Shiro didn't look up from where he was prepping dinner. Kraft Dinner, from the smell of it. Also, Shiro only ever cooked KD and did a really bad job of hiding the boxes when he told his sibling he'd made the meal from scratch. 

"Um, can I tell you something?" He must've sounded a lot more nervous or serious than he'd thought, because Shiro moved the pot off the burner and turned to face him, squatting so they were at the same level. 

"Of course you can. What's up?" 

"U-um, so, I—k-kinda don't wanna..." He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut so hard colours burst behind his eyelids. "I don't wanna be called a girl anymore!" He shouted the words unintentionally, not opening his eyes, more scared of his brother's reaction than he thought he'd be. 

The silence scared him. 

He jumped when Shiro laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, look at me, kiddo." 

He did. And the proud smile Shiro wore brought tears to his eyes. 

"That's fine. I'll call you whatever you wanna be called. Did you have a name in mind?" 

That only made him cry harder. He nodded, so many times his neck started to hurt. "K-Keith," he sobbed. "I wanna be called Keith." 

Keith surged forward and wrapped him arms tightly around his brother. 

They stayed like that until Keith's sobs quieted and his breathing evened out. 

"Alright, then, Keith," Shiro said, pulling back, and got-dammit it felt so good to be called by his name, "how about some dinner? I made mac n' cheese." 

Keith snorted. "No, you didn't. You just warmed it up." 

"Lies! Blasphemy! There's no—oh. Guess I forgot to recycle the box." 

Keith laughed as Shiro dished him up, ruffling his hair. 

 

\-- 

 

"Hey, is it OK for Matt and Katie to know?" Shiro asked. "I just don't want them to call you the wrong name, or tell them without asking you first." 

Keith nodded without hesitation. "I want everyone to know." 

"Gotcha, kid." 

 

\-- 

 

Shiro told him Katie was around Keith's grade. What he didn't say, was that Katie was younger than him. As in, by more than one year. 

She also looked like her brother's twin. 

Speaking of, Matt and Katie were too enthused about the alien merch at one booth to notice Shiro and Keith's approach. 

"Oh, man, this looks so good on me... But it's so _expensive_! Wouldn't it look good on me, Pidge?" 

Katie barely spared her brother a glance and shrugged instead of giving a response. Keith liked her already.  

"Matt!" Shiro grasped the man's shoulder and turned him around, much to Matt's surprise. 

"Shiro!" he gasped. "Didn't see you there, buddy!" He threw his arms around Shiro and squeezed him. 

Laughing, Shiro extracted himself from Matt's grip. "Matt, Katie, this is Keith, my brother. Keith, these are Matt and Katie." 

Suddenly all attention was on him—including Matt's. And that was scary and oppressive. Keith squirmed as Matt's smile grew. Then Matt gasped. 

"Aren't you just the cutest!"  

Cute? Matt thought he was _cute_? 

"And a little birdy told me it was your birthday..." Then a card was being thrust in his face. "Happy birthday!" 

Katie crossed her arms, looking like she was glad it wasn't her on the receiving end for once. 

"Th-thanks..." Keith muttered, taking the card from him. 

"Lay off a little, Matt," Shiro murmured, laying a hand on Matt's back. 

"Oh, right. Sorry, Keithy." 

 _Keithy?_ Now this guy was giving him nicknames? Keith couldn't believe it. His first real social interaction outside a family unit since school in Texas and _this_ is what he gets? Unbelievable. 

"Well, let's let the kids play, and go do some playing of our own. Whaddaya say, Shiro?" 

"Would you not say it like that?" Shiro grumbled against his palm. 

"Aw, you're no fun." 

Keith turned to Katie, confusion clear in the lines of his eyebrows. "Shiro didn't tell me he met his soulmate." 

"He didn't." Before Keith could ask his next question, she added, "They're just 'having some fun.' That's what Matt told me." 

Keith nodded, but he didn't understand. 

Katie led him around the stalls, appraising each before moving on. 

Then she spoke: "You look like a girl." 

Anger and defensiveness curled in Keith's gut. "Yeah, well—you look like a boy!" 

"Yeah, I know. I wasn't trying to be mean." 

Keith narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. What was this girl's deal? 

"Ooh, check this one out!" she squealed, rushing over to a booth that had caught her fancy. 

The banner on its front read, _Have you ever been abducted? Find out here!_  

Keith's eyes glowed as he took in the machine in front of him. It looked like those scanners in the airport security show he watched, but this one was better—this one was for aliens and not metal. Buzzing, he dragged Katie into the line-up. When it was their turn, he let her go first. _Like a gentleman should,_ Pop’s voice echoed in his mind. 

The scanner made a little booping noise as she passed through. She fixed her excited gaze on the stall runner as he read her results. 

"Ah, you haven’t been abducted, but you've come into contact with some alien energy recently." 

Katie slumped. "Aw, man." 

Now it was Keith's turn. He stepped through slowly, warily, fully expecting it not to make a sound. But as he did, it erupted with beeping and bells and whistles and a noise that sounded like a squealer firework. He lunged away from it, hands held up in defense. "W-what's it doing?" he demanded. 

"By god!" the stall runner said. "Either you've been abducted, or you _are_ an alien!" 

Keith shook his head, disbelieving.  

"No _way_!" Katie screamed, balling her fists up in excitement. "I'm friends with an alien!" 

Everyone in the stalls around them turned to stare. And murmur. And point. 

"That kid's an alien?" 

"What species are you thinking? Grey? Reptilian?" 

Keith's diaphragm loosened, expelling all the air in his lungs. He tried to force it to contract, but it wouldn't budge, wouldn't listen. The faces around him blurred into one big, colourful blob. He desperately wanted them to look away, because their eyes were _burning_ him, _didn't they understand_? 

A hand grabbed his elbow and yanked him away from the crowd, a voice shouting, "Go away! Leave him alone!" 

When the hand stopped pulling him, he opened his eyes and saw Katie. Just Katie. She'd led them to the back of a stall, right next to the wall of the gymnasium. 

"I'm sorry, Keith. I shouldn't've said you were an alien. I'm sorry..." Her big eyes filled with tears, a mirror, Keith realized belatedly, to himself.  

He hastily scrubbed his own tears away, and his lungs, thankfully, admitting air. His heartrate levelled out to a normal pace. It was over.  

"It's—" OK? Saying that would be a lie, and both of them knew it. "—not your fault. I just get like that sometimes." 

The confession stewed in the space between them, uncomfortable on Keith's end. He cleared his throat. 

"I think there was a cool stall down there I wanted to check out." 

Katie nodded. "Yeah, OK. Let's go." 

 

They were visiting the booth across from a merch vendor when Katie suddenly gasped. 

"Keith!" She whisper-shouted. "Look at those _socks_! They’re _beautiful_!" 

Keith followed her gaze until he, too, could see the socks. She was right; they were _gorgeous_. They came in a six-pack, each pair with a different pattern: Greys, little green men, reptilians, Sasquatch, Mothman, and little UFOs. Keith felt his eyes widen to the size of flying saucers. 

"We need those socks," he decided.  

"But how? We don't have any money, and I really don't wanna find Matt and Shiro." 

Keith said nothing, only smirked at Katie. His pop was a respectable man, yes, a good one, even, which was exactly why he'd taught Keith the art of thievery. And, OK, maybe he hadn't intended for his son to use it to steal socks he really didn't need, but Keith was still going to do it. 

He walked casually over to the stall, avoiding catching the attendant's attention, and picked the socks off the table. He held them loosely, trying to disguise the shaking in his fingers. He continued to browse the stall's selection, moving from one side of the table to the other, and then left the stall altogether. When he and Katie rounded the corner, he let out a relieved breath. 

"I can't believe that worked." 

"I can't believe you stole those socks!" 

He grinned at her, brandishing their prize. Katie pulled the zipper on her backpack open and offered it to him so he could put the socks inside. 

"We share the socks." 

Katie looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Uh, yeah? Obviously. _You're_ the one that stole them, I'm not gonna keep them from you." 

Keith beamed. Yeah, he really liked Katie. 

 

When they bumped into Matt and Shiro again, it was almost time to leave. 

"Did you two have fun?" Shiro asked. 

The two kids nodded, sharing a not-so-sneaky glance. 

Matt gasped from where he was clinging to Shiro's arm. "What does that look mean? It has to mean something!" 

"Oh, nothing." Keith didn't want to tell them, only to have Shiro make him return the socks and apologize. 

"Katie?" He turned to his sister, but she shook her head and mimed zipping her lips. "Betrayed by my own blood..." 

Shiro shook his head, but his smile was fond. "Well, I think it's about time we head out. It's a long drive back." 

As they said their goodbyes, Keith was surprised that he didn't find himself objecting when Katie and Matt hugged him. 

 

\-- 

 

Christmas morning, Keith woke up with no expectations. His pop had always given him a small present like a ball or a magazine—it was all they could afford—but Shiro seemed like he couldn’t afford much, if the state of his apartment was anything to go by. 

But Shiro surprised him yet again. 

“Hey, Keith,” he murmured from the other side of the curtain. “Are you awake?” 

From his spot in front of the window admiring the snowfall, Keith grunted. 

“Alright, I’m coming over. I’ve got a surprise for you.” 

Keith straightened, interest piqued. “You... do?” 

“Of course.” Shiro emerged from behind the curtain, smiling. “It _is_ Christmas.” Then his brow crinkled. “Do you not celebrate it? Should I call this a Chanukah present? Just a present? Or... something else?” 

“No, I celebrate. I just didn’t think I would get anything.” His eyes fell to the sheaf of papers clutched in Shiro’s hand, and then to the floor. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

Shiro came over and sat next to him on the bed. “Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I always tell everyone not to get me anything, anyways.” 

“But... you got _me_ something...” Keith was pouting, he didn’t even try to hide it. 

“Yeah. But I thought of this and knew you would love it. Hopefully.” He held out the papers, somewhat bashfully. 

Keith eyed them warily, eyes narrowed. Slowly he reached out and took them, unrolling them and scanning the formal words printed there. Wow. Super formal. 

 _Petition for Change of Name of Minor_  

And underneath that, his chosen name filled out on the line. 

Keith’s eyes filled with tears. He looked up at his brother, lip quivering. “Sh-Shiro?” 

“Bad gift?” 

Keith shook his head resolutely. “Great gift,” he whispered. Then he flung his arms around Shiro’s middle, papers on the bed behind him. “Thank you. Thank you.” 

Two days later saw them at the Notary Public signing the forms and scheduling a court hearing for a month later. 

 

Keith was buzzing, sitting on the court bench waiting for the judge to enter the room. Then Shiro was being called on to answer questions, and after it was Keith’s turn. Before he knew it, the judge had added her signature to the files. 

Now all that was left was to file the papers and change his name on his birth certificate. 

 

\-- 

 

After a brief respite of peace, Keith’s life started rapidly going downhill once more. As it should, he thought. It wasn’t right that his life should be calm and undisturbed. 

One minute he was opening the door to their apartment after walking home from school, the next a bubbly lady was bustling up to him, sugar-sweet smile rotting Keith’s teeth. 

“Are you Keith Kogane?” she asked, and her voice was as artery-clogging as Keith imagined it would be. 

He nodded. 

“Will you come with me, sweetheart?” 

He shook his head. Why would he go with some strange lady? 

“You need to come with me, sweetheart.” And now her voice was rock candy. 

He shook his head more frantically, shoving the door shut, only for it to be stopped by the lady. “I don’t want to! Go away!” 

“Keith, sweetheart, don’t kick up a fuss, now. Come quietly.” 

“Stop! Leave me alone!” _I don’t want to be torn away from my brother—from my family—anymore!_  

He pressed his back against the door, pushing with all his strength, but then there were two other people, more men in black, and their combined manpower overwhelmed him. He toppled onto the floor, face first, nearly smashing his teeth on the hardwood. 

“Stop! Why are you doing this to me?” 

The men grasped his upper arms and towed him out of the building and into a car. Another black sedan, Keith noted with a jolt of fear. Then he really started to panic. He knew what this meant. They were taking him away from Shiro for good. They were going to ship him off to someone else. He didn’t have any more family; where would they put him now? In some random family’s house? 

 

\-- 

 

The answer was yes. 

They put him into a house with a huge family and it was such a shock, Keith's throat closed up and trapped all his words. 

There were at _least_ seven other kids, most younger than him, and he'd never been around other kids for longer than a school-day at a time. How was he going to deal with them 24/7? He even had to share a room with two of them! 

By the end of the week, he remembered only three of their names: Ash, Holly, and Wanda. Holly was nice enough, if not a little holier-than-thou-stick-up-her-butt. Wanda kept to herself unless it was to admonish the younger ones for picking their noses and what-have-you. Ash, though... He drove Keith up the wall. Literally, one time. The kid was a nightmare on a sugar high washed down with energy drinks. Watching him was like watching a Doritos commercial hopped on acid spliced with an Energizer commercial in fast forward. Just the knowledge that he was about to hear Ash's headache-inducing voice was enough to make Keith want to tear up his eardrums with one of the borderline-rusty butter knives in the kitchen drawer. 

When he wasn't being jostled around at mealtime or shoved into rooms with locked doors, Keith was on the front lawn, testing the boundary. How far could he go before one of them noticed? 

Pretty damn far, apparently. 

His new guardians weren't the most perceptive. Bruce and Hetty Monger were too busy watching _The Price is Right_ and betting on horseraces to pay attention to or give a care about what the children were doing. Frankly, Keith was amazed the house hadn't already been destroyed. 

He'd already witnessed one of the bigger kids boasting about how he could punch a hole through the wall—and then actually doing it—, several kids tearing the siding off the house to make stunt ramps in the backyard, and a couple of them trying unsuccessfully to hit the upstairs windows with rocks by using slingshots. 

And that was just the first week. 

By the end of the second, Keith had had _way_ more than enough and decided to let Bruce and Hetty Monger know. 

"I want to leave," he told them simply. 

"Oh? Do you now?" Hetty stared blankly at the screen in front of her, barely acknowledging Keith's words. 

"I want you to call the men in black to come get me." 

"The men in black? Are you an alien or somethin'?" Bruce shot him a confused glare. 

They weren't going to be any help at all, so Keith opted to take matters into his own hands. 

The number was easy enough to find: Bruce and Hetty Monger kept a list of important ones on the fridge. 

Anticipation built in his gut as the dial tones stretched on and on. 

Then: 

"Child Protective Services, how can I help you?" 

Keith blinked. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. "Uh—I'd like to leave this house. Please." 

"Who is this?" 

"Keith Kogane." 

"Hold, please." 

Keith screwed up his lips, wondering what she would need him to hold for. He hoped the other kids didn't come in and see him on the phone; only Bruce and Hetty Monger were allowed to use it. They'd made that abundantly clear. 

"Says here you're a foster child in the Monger household?" 

"Mm-hm." 

"And you'd like to leave it?" 

"Yep." 

"And why is that, now?" 

"There' too many kids in here and Bruce and Hetty Monger hardly pay us any attention at all." 

"Well, says here Bruce and Hetty Monger have the highest approval rating as foster parents." 

Is that so? 

"I want to leave," he repeated, hoping maybe she'd understand this time. 

"Sorry, kid. Can't let you leave unless you've got a valid reason." And she hung up. 

Keith grumbled as he set the phone back on the answering machine. What would he have to do to get _out of this place_? 

 

It took him two days to formulate a plan. 

Since he didn't have much stuff with him, and even less that he cared to keep, he would fill his backpack with food and water, take his mom's knife, and leave. He'd have to pack during the day, because the kids had a strict curfew and weren't allowed out of their rooms after nine o'clock. Bruce and Hetty Monger had the ears of hawks and had caught a couple children sneaking out of bed one time. Keith didn't like to think about what had happened after that. Plus, the kids weren't allowed in the kitchen except for mealtimes, so he wouldn't have to worry about being caught packing. 

That night, he slept soundly. 

 

No one stopped him on his way out the door, or as he crossed the front lawn for the last time, or as he stepped out onto the street. 

It was too easy to get away from that place, but he feared the next time he'd try to escape wouldn't be so. 

 

\-- 

 

The next house was much more to his liking: one guardian and two other children. Quiet. Peaceful. 

The children didn't talk much, only nodding yes or shaking their heads no when Keith asked questions. He thought maybe they were both mute. 

The guardian—Amelia—was very kind to him, though it took him a while to warm up to her. Whenever he allowed her to pull him in for a hug, he'd catch the other two looking at him worriedly. He wondered what their deal was. 

And oh boy, did he find out. 

He came home from school one day to what was positively the most horrid thing he'd ever seen. 

One of the other kids—Connor? Maybe?—lay on the floor, covered head to toe in bruises, bleeding in some places. 

Amelia had his sister, Jeannie, by the wrist, and was—oh, god, Keith couldn't watch. He had to look away. And run away. Before she— 

"Oh! Keith, sweetheart! I'm sorry you had to see this... I wasn't expecting you home for another ten minutes." 

His throat closed up again. No, no, this wasn't _happening_ , there had to be a mistake, this was supposed to be his happy house, where he felt safe and loved, not— _this_ , with Amelia beating on Conner and Jeannie. 

He stepped back, hopefully to make it out the door, but Amelia caught on and snagged his wrist. "Where are you trying to go? Not out there, surely, when you could join us in here and have fun?" 

"Let me go..." His voice came out in a whisper. 

"Come, sweetheart... I promise it's fun..." 

Then it was his turn. 

Her fist flew into his ribs, bringing with it unimaginable pain. He cried out, reaching for something to keep from falling over but finding nothing. Her hand around his wrist tightened and his body jerked to a stop just before it hit the floor, held in place by her vice-like grip. 

But it didn't stop there. She kept going, long after he had ceased to feel anything. 

 

He crawled up to his bed after Amelia had yelled at him for laying on the floor. His whole body twinged when he moved. He wondered if his soul connection had opened early, if his soulmate could feel it too. He hoped not. He didn't ever want to have a soulmate if this is what they'd have to endure. 

He planned to run away on his way to school, but Amelia called the office and told them he was sick and would be absent today. 

He crept back up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, shutting himself in the closet and slowing his breath. If she couldn't hear him, she wouldn't find him. He told himself this over and over, even as her footsteps marched up and down the hallway and into each room. She wouldn't find him. She wouldn't find him. 

 

\-- 

 

He got moved soon after that, because he'd managed to recall the digits of the CPS phone number and had dialled them when Amelia had gone outside to do some gardening. 

The social workers had had to move back down into Texas to find him a family. He'd been living on the border and moving him to the next state over was a whole lot easier than moving him to the other side of his current state. 

And because the areas he'd lived in with and since Shiro had been so accepting, he'd almost forgotten that people could be intolerant. His first Texan foster family was a rude awakening. 

One of his new guardians looked down at him. "Your name is Keith?" 

He nodded. It was indeed. 

"But Keith's a boy's name." 

It hit him like a slap to the face. That's right, he did look quite female, didn't he? He shoved down the feeling and looked the man in the eye. "That's because I am a boy. I chose it for myself." 

"Oh, dear lord, you're one of _those_ people, aren't you? Nothing we say's gonna change your mind, is it? You're set on pretending to be a boy?" 

"I'm not pretending." 

The man raised his eyebrows. "Sure you aren't." He motioned to the man in black standing obver by the car. "Yeah, this isn't gonna work for us. D'you think you could get us a boy that's _actually_ , y'know, a boy?" 

Keith fumed. He wanted to give this man a piece of his mind. 

The man in black said nothing, only took Keith by the elbow and walked him to the car. 

 

\-- 

 

After a few years of being passed around from house to house, Keith landed in a modest apartment. 

This man was nice. Almost Amelia-level nice. Keith kept his distance. He'd learned his lesson. 

The man studied him from across the room. He was seated on the couch, Keith on the chair. 

"What's your favourite colour?" 

There was no harm in answering, right? "Blue." 

The man nodded contemplatively. "I like black. Purple's alright too." 

Keith figured his new guardian must like asking insignificant questions, because he did it a few times a day. He wanted to know things like Keith's favourite animal, favourite food, favourite season, favourite book, did he watch TV? After a couple weeks, the questions started getting more profound. He wanted to know what Keith thought of such-and-such law, or the headline event on the news, or why he thought life existed. Keith liked these questions a lot more. 

"Why do you think we have soulmates?" he asked one day. 

Keith pondered this for a minute. He'd never learned much about soulmates, just that they could feel each other's pain and some people didn't have one. 

"I guess..." he started after a minute or two. "I guess they keep you company and take care of you when you're sad or sick. And you can talk about things you like with them, because they probably like the same things." 

The man smiled a small smile. "Yeah. Maybe you're right." 

Something was bothering Keith. Something about the man. He wasn't sure of something... 

"Um..." Keith fidgeted, looking at his feet where they were crossed on the chair. "What's your name again?" 

The man blinked at him. "My... name?" 

"You only said it once, but I was... thinking about something else." 

The sound of laughter startled Keith. "You've lived here for two weeks and you didn't know my name the whole time!" He reigned in his laughter long enough to look back at Keith and say, "Adam." 

"You mean like... from the bible?" Keith had never met anyone named after a biblical figure before. 

"Sure, yeah. If that's how you want to think about it." 

 

Keith didn't think Adam suspected anything off about him. He didn't know if the men in black told him about the previous houses Keith had lived in. 

At least until Adam went to ruffle Keith's hair on his way out the door one day. Keith flinched back and looked up at Adam with panic-wide eyes, breath fast and heart erratic. Adam gaped down at him for a second, arm still raised. Then he knelt down in front of Keith and fixed him with a serious look. 

"Keith, I'm sorry. I would never hit you." 

Keith nodded. He knew that. He trusted Adam. But he had also trusted Amelia. 

"Has someone hit you before? In one of your old homes?" 

Keith assumed his silence was answer enough. 

"I know telling you not to worry about it won't work, and I won't make promises I can't keep, but I will promise that I will never lay a hand on you, understand me?" 

Keith turned his teary gaze onto Adam and saw the honesty etched into his features. It almost reminded him of Shiro. Keith nodded, tears spilling over. Maybe Adam was less like Amelia than Keith had thought. 

 

He lived with Adam longer than he had his other guardians. 

He grew to see Adam as a sort of father figure, or an older brother, much like Shiro had been for him. 

That was why it hurt so much when Adam looked out the window. Keith watched as his already-tense face grew more so. He marched over to Keith and asked, "Will you give me a hug this once?" 

Keith didn't answer, just threw his arms around Adam. The man was shaky and Keith swore he felt wetness where Adam's face was pressed against the side of Keith's head. 

"Adam?" he whispered, voice thick with sorrow and fear. "What's happening?" 

Adam squeezed him impossibly tighter. "I'm sorry, Keith. I'm so sorry." 

Then he let go and Keith saw the men in black behind him. He looked at Adam, betrayal in his red-rimmed eyes. 

"No... You can't let them take me away... I like it here, Adam, please!" 

He protested even as Adam begged him not to and one man in black hauled him back to the black sedan. 

 

\-- 

 

For his thirteenth birthday, Keith got a noogie. It was from the bully kid in the house and he gave one to Keith every day, so it wasn't very special. It just hurt. 

 

\-- 

 

He was given a couple months to settle in to being a teenager—though, at thirteen, is he _really_ an actual teenager?—and then he received the news that they had found a new family for him to live with. He wondered where they'd come from. Last time he'd checked, there were no available foster families in the area. Had one of their kids died or run away? 

At this point, he accepted being shoved into the black sedan and carted off to new houses. He'd be out of there soon enough, anyways, when the guardians figured out he wouldn't say anything to them and decided they didn't want him anymore. And if they were just in it for the cheque, he'd leave on his own. 

The sedan stopped in front of a bungalow. Judging by the look of it, it wasn't too expensive. So not city centre but not cheap enough to be on the outskirts, either. 

The man in black knocked on the door and a man answered it nearly immediately. He looked oddly familiar. His bottom lip was bitten raw and his nails looked chewed to the quicks. Was he in the right state of mind to be fostering a child? Didn't matter; that would just be more reason for Keith to leave. 

"Yes?" he asked, then seemed to notice Keith. Something in his expression changed. "Oh. I didn't think you'd be here so soon." 

"This is Keith Kogane, your foster child. I'll be off." And he left. 

Keith watched the sedan pull away, knowing he'd be seeing it again, sooner or later. Then he looked to the man, who had covered his mouth with a hand.  

"Who is it?" a voice called from inside the house. Another man appeared in the doorway and caught the first as his knees buckled. "What's the matter?" 

Now the first man was crying. What had Keith walked in to? 

"Oh, my..." the second man breathed. 

Eventually they made it into the house. Keith's déjà-vu was so intense it was bordering on painful. Why did he feel as though he'd been here before?  

The first man finished wiping his face and came over to Keith. "You don't remember us, do you?" 

Keith shook his head. 

The man's eyes filled with tears again. Great. 

"But... You look familiar. So do this house." 

More tears.  

"I thought it was you when I saw the last name, and then I saw you and now you're saying that... You've changed so much, but you still look like the baby we adopted." 

Now Keith was really concerned. Did he have another secret half-sibling? Did they die under the care of these men? Would Keith die too? 

"Ulaz, stop. You're scaring he—him." 

Ulaz looked at the other man, then back at Keith. "Sorry... It's just—I'm sorry." He moved away and stood with the other man. He watched as, once again, tears filled Ulaz's eyes. 

"Would one of you tell me what's going on?" Keith demanded. 

They exchanged a glance. 

"I would be less freaked out if I at least knew what you two's deal is." 

The man sighed. "I'm Thace. This is my husband Ulaz. Thirteen years ago, we adopted a baby named Yorak Kogane." 

Keith's blood ran cold. 

"She was in our care for two years before her father resurfaced and took custody of her." 

Keith studied both of them in turn, eyes wild. They'd... adopted him? Before he'd met his father? He never knew that. Pop had never told him.  

"I know it's a lot to take in, but—" 

Oh. Now it was coming back to him, bit by bit. The memories weren't much other than fuzzy two-year-old thoughts, but they'd left an imprint. 

"Daddy? Pa?" he whispered. 

Thace stopped talking and Ulaz stared at Keith. He hurried over and wrapped Keith in a hug so tight he thought he might faint from lack of oxygen. But that was OK. He returned the embrace and felt Thace lay his arms overtop of them. 

He knew, with a certainty that scared him, that he was home and the men in black would never make him get back in the black sedan. 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High_Frequency_Active_Auroral_Research_Program#Conspiracy_theories 
> 
> this was finished two weeks ago but i wanted to wait till after s7 (BIG FUCKING S7 SPOILERS READ AT YOUR OWN RISK) bc i wanted to fix adam's characterisation... but y'all know how THAT shitshow went... so yeah maybe he's not IC but we'll never know bc we only got that ONE FUCKING SCENE w him...


End file.
